


Aftermath

by queenitsy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenitsy/pseuds/queenitsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all over and Jackson is free, so he shouldn't feel like this anymore. He shouldn't want this anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Written or the [Sterek Free Ficathon](http://thecivilunrest.livejournal.com/13653.html?thread=60757#t60757), prompt: Jackson/Danny - Freedom from the Kanima curse. 
> 
> WARNING: vague references to Matt/Jackson. No details, but it was presumably not entirely consensual.

It's over. It's all over. So Jackson shouldn't feel like this anymore. But when he's lying in bed in the dark and can't sleep, when every time he shuts his eyes he sees blood and when he opens them he has to check his hands to make sure they aren't venomous claws, he can't help but remember.

He didn't really understand what was happening at the time, just the terror and the anger and the _horror_ , and how Matt would put a hand on his shoulder or run his fingers through his hair, and it would feel _right_. Everything else fell away, and Jackson knew he'd found somewhere to belong -- someone to belong to. After everything, Stilinski told him that the kanima had needed a master, and Jackson remembers craving it.

But he's free now, and it's all over. So he shouldn't want that, doesn't _need_ it--

Except he can't sleep. He can't get his brain to turn off, can't stop freaking out about the pack, about Lydia and how she loves him but can't be with him (because of the way he treated her, his own fault, and because he's a werewolf and she just can't -- he respects that, he does, loves her enough to let her go but he _needs_ \--). And he can't stop thinking that there's a part of him that wishes Matt was there, that Matt would tell him to _shh_ , would push him down onto a mattress, would take him apart and take him out of his head.

He doesn't know how long he just lies there, wishing he was asleep, desperate to banish the memories and the feelings. Finally, he can't take it anymore. He vaults out of bed and grabs the first thing he can find in his dresser, slides on a pair of sneakers and takes off. He doesn't know where he's going, walking quickly but not quite running, trying to outrace his mind without looking like a lunatic to the few people who are awake and might glance out their windows.

He doesn't know how, didn't plan it, but he ends up near Danny's house. He stands under a street light and stares at it. Danny's room is around one side and on the first floor. It's easy to sneak in and out of. He and Danny have done it a million times.

He moves without thinking, before he can talk himself out of it, think about how insane it is. He steals around the yard. Of course Danny is asleep. He knocks on the window, holds his breath, knocks again louder. Danny sits up, blinking blearily, and stares over at him. Then slides out of bed to open the window and let him in.

"Jackson, it's 4 a.m.," he says, sleep making his natural mumble worse. Jackson can understand him anyway. "You okay?"

And how is Jackson supposed to answer that? He shuffles awkwardly, says, "I just…" and that's all he can manage.

Danny rubs his eyes, sighs, and sinks on to his bed, sitting. "Does this have to do with… the lacrosse field thing?"

That's how Danny always puts it. He never names it as the time everyone saw Jackson die, or the rumors that Jackson had actually tried to kill himself. But Jackson's heard the whispers, the rumors, and knows that Danny hasn't just heard them, Danny's been trying to shield him from them.

So he does the closest thing he can to telling the truth, and he nods.

"You want to talk about it?" Danny asks.

Jackson shakes his head. "No, I just -- I can't sleep. It's -- sorry. I shouldn't have woken you up--"

"Jackson." Danny's voice is a little sharp, like he's trying to get Jackson's attention, and Jackson likes it when Danny says his name. According to Stilinski -- well, according to Peter Hale -- his name was something that could snap him out of Matt's spell, at least for a few minutes at a time. It feels almost the same now, sends something racing down Jackson's spine. "You can always come wake me up. Okay?"

"Yeah." Jackson takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "Thanks."

"Sure. Hey. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. You want to stay here awhile?"

"Yeah," Jackson manages.

"Okay. You want to try to sleep? Or we could go watch TV for awhile. Infomercials or something."

Jackson smiles a tiny bit. When they were kids, he and Danny used to try to stay up all night, and even though they'd inevitably conk out around 2 or 3 a.m., they'd always keep the TV on. The late night infomercials were all hilarious, made more so by exhaustion. "Would you mind?"

"I offered," Danny says, standing up again. He stretches, and Jackson flushes a little bit. Danny had been sleeping in only a pair of boxer-briefs, and they're tight and don't leave much to the imagination. His skin is tan and there's _miles_ of it, long legs and perfect abs and broad shoulders. Jackson's throat goes dry and he yearns, a little, a longing he's never acknowledged and has tried so hard to suppress for so many years.

Danny flushes, maybe catching his gaze. He grabs a t-shirt and yesterday's jeans off his floor -- Danny isn't really a slob, but he's not as meticulously neat as Jackson -- and pulls them on, then nods towards the door and leads the way out. They turn the TV on but no lights, keep the volume low. When they sit on the couch together, everything feels muted and foggy except the warmth of Danny's body next to him. Danny flips channels, not even bothering with old sitcom reruns or late night call-in shows or whatever there are, ignores a hundred premium channels and goes right to basic cable that's showing those ridiculous commercials.

It's only a few minutes before Danny's breath evens out, not quite snoring. Jackson concentrates on it, his breaths, his heartbeat, his warmth. Everything about him is so steady, reliable. Jackson doesn't mean to, but it's instinct for him to lean into it, to rest his head against Danny's shoulder.

Danny stirs and Jackson pulls back with a start, not sure where Danny's boundaries are, how he'll react -- but Danny just wraps a hand around Jackson's arm, tugs him down, gently maneuvers it so Jackson is lying on his back, taking up most of the couch, his head in Danny's lap with Danny holding his hand.

"Good?" Danny mumbles.

"Yeah," Jackson says.

Danny squeezes his hand. "Good. Go to sleep, Jackson."

Something inside Jackson settles, calmed by Danny's steadiness, by the way Danny has taken charge of him. _Go to sleep_ isn't much of an order, and Jackson is free, now, not compelled to obey _anyone_ \-- he just wants to. With Danny, he _wants_ to.

Danny falls back asleep, fingers still interlaced with Jackson's. Jackson follows him a moment later, mind quieted so he can sleep at last.


End file.
